


Who Are You Tonight?

by black_lodge



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_lodge/pseuds/black_lodge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hanging on the bedroom door was the most recent dress the doctor had purchased for her, an elegant handmade gown the color of milky green jade. An expensive color. She dressed slowly, savoring the sensation of silk against bare skin." Dr. Lecter helps Clarice get ready for the opera. Set post-Hannibal (book-verse).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who Are You Tonight?

Clarice had spent a very soothing hour soaking in a warm bath surrounded by squat flickering candles and fragrant rose petals while the doctor was out. For weeks they had been looking forward to this evening -- they had tickets to see a performance of _La Traviata_ at the Buenos Aires opera. Now she removed herself from the enormous claw-footed tub to towel off. Hanging on the bedroom door was the most recent dress the doctor had purchased for her, an elegant handmade gown the color of milky green jade. An expensive color. She dressed slowly, savoring the sensation of silk against bare skin.

Now she sat at the vanity of the town house’s master bedroom and prepared to do her face. She had been with the doctor almost two years now and knew that he expected her to look her best, especially when they went out. She supposed it didn’t matter if they drew attention to themselves; they had another house just as well-situated and lavishly furnished as this in Madrid, and another in Munich. They didn’t try to attract the public’s eye, but the doctor wasn’t about to relinquish any comforts for the sake of maintaining a low profile.

He came into the room as she was preparing her makeup palette. He wore a conservative but expensive black tuxedo, tailored to fit him perfectly. He smiled thinly at her reflection in the mirror, and she looked over her shoulder at him to return the smile.

“Who are you tonight?” he asked her, pulling up a chair to sit beside her. He asked her this occasionally, and she never knew what to say. Tonight was the same; she only smiled at him as she began to apply her foundation.

Before him, she had never had much reason to wear makeup. Even now she only wore it to the theatre and the other fancy places to which he brought her. She prided herself that her face didn’t need enhancing to look beautiful, but she took pleasure in giving him the satisfaction that an impeccably-groomed woman on his arm brought.

But when she took up her palette to begin applying color, his slight intake of breath stopped her. She glanced at him and he took the palette from her, examining the broad spectrum of mostly unused eye- and cheek-colors.

“Let’s try something new,” he said, taking the sable brush from her and dusting off the old color on a cloth. He then touched it to a square of brilliant green eye-shadow. “This one,” he said. “You’ve never used it before.”

“It’s very bright,” she said, looking at the brush he held up to her face.

“Ah, but in the dark of a theatre house, one needs bright colors to be seen. This,” he said, indicating the more conservative taupe she had intended to apply, “disappears in the shadows.” A pause, then: “Allow me?”

He held up the brush and she grinned. What the hell, she thought, and closed her eyes.

He took her face in his hands. His right held her still by her chin while his left painted; the touch of his little finger steadying his hand on her cheekbone sent a chill down her spine. The brush glided over her lids, the bristles tickling her a bit. When she opened them, she saw the verdant streaks and approved.

“Next?” he asked her, already reaching for the open kit on the vanity top.

Daring eyeliner a la Cleopatra, followed by quick efficient strokes of the mascara brush. Then the blush, a darker shade than what she would have chosen, but striking once he carefully blended the color into the rest of the composition. Lip-liner came after, which he applied with the feather-light strokes of an accomplished artist.

Finally, the lipstick. He found a bold shade she had purchased in a French bazaar on a whim and had never once used. At his prompting, she let her mouth fall open and tensed her jaws as he applied the last cosmetic. She braced herself with her hands on his knees, let her eyes drift shut as he painted her lips with four purposeful strokes.

“Finito,” he said at last, capping the lipstick. He then leaned back for a look.

“Good enough to eat,” was his judgment, and after a moment’s examination he reached around her to put the lipstick on the vanity with the rest of the cosmetics. She didn’t flatter herself that she took him by surprise when she grabbed his lapel – gently, so as not to rumple his immaculate jacket.

“Now, we wouldn’t want to ruin our work of art before the canvas has even been cut, would we?” he said, but his tone was teasing, heady, and she knew that with the right amount of persuasion he would have no second thoughts about ‘ruining’ anything. Her hand trailed downward, and he bent forward, his hands finding her shoulders, slipping to her waist. Her lips parted in anticipation.

His mouth had barely met hers, but before she could rise to meet him his tongue had slipped past her painted lips and up into her mouth to touch the frenum, that vertical slip of skin that connected her upper lip to her gum. She gasped in surprise at the shock of sensation.

But he was already drawing away, a half-smile on his face, standing and holding out his hand to help her up. Clearly, any further exploring would have to wait until after La Traviata. “Come then, my Violetta,” he said softly, and they departed.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted June 2007 on LJ.


End file.
